


Take Me To Church

by Millennialpink22



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Author knows some things about dance, Ballet, Becca Barnes as Bucky's Sister, But recalls very little, Dancer!Tony, Eating Disorders, High School, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Is too lazy to research more, M/M, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Past Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Song: Take Me To Church (Hozier), Suburban Dad Pedophilic Commentary, Suburban White Mom Homophobia, ballerina!tony, trigger warning: mentions of eating disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 17:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19431082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millennialpink22/pseuds/Millennialpink22
Summary: (One-Shot) Steve Rogers agrees to pick up his best friend's little sister from her dance class. As he's about to leave he hears a familiar voice in one of the private studios and finds himself overwhelmed with emotion as he watches his ex boyfriend, Tony Stark performing shirtless to "Take Me To Church."





	Take Me To Church

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I have not written a single word after a 4 year long depressive episode that left me zapped of a single creative thought and made my entire mind a bleak landscape of nothingness. I'm horribly rusty and I am well aware of that. Normally I'd ask for extreme criticism, but seeing as I am trying to regain passion I once lost, I'd appreciate being gentle with me as I am as sensitive as Thor in Endgame. I am not the best with dancer terminology and this was written impulsively on the notes in my phone whilst listening to "A Moment Apart" by Odesza. I am still in a piss-poor state of mind and it shows in my ability (or lack thereof). I am trying. My fourteen year old self would cringe at what I am about to present to you. 
> 
> Also this is NOT beta-read by anyone so my lack of grammar skills will be quite obvious. Also, even in my prime, I was the queen of run-on sentences and sequences of rambling. It's honestly my style and if it annoys you... I apologize.

Sometimes it felt as though the city of New York had forgotten that autumn was supposed to happen during the months of September, October, November, and even early December, just before the snow powdered the trees in Central Park. It was as though the city went from being subject to scorching heat that caused the piled-up garbage on the busiest streets to take on a foul, indescribable odor and air so humid that even those with the most expensive deodorant were left sticky and sweaty, and then skipped right to frigid temperatures that were often accompanied by snow flurries that were not quite thick enough to stick to the bustling streets of the city but still had the power to make one’s teeth chatter and to ignite one’s desire to throw up Christmas decorations the second Halloween ended.

Or at least that’s how seventeen-year-old Steve Rogers saw it as he drove cautiously through the snow which did not create a beautiful blanket over the cityscape that he would later have the desire to sketch in his bedroom (as a way to procrastinate Mr. Coulson’s math assignment), but more so created a slippery slush which irritated him by dampening his hair, cancelling his football practice, and making his pathetic piece of shit car slip and slide through the slickened roads that lead to the Brooklyn School of Ballet and Dance. 

Normally, Steve would not be making such a trek through shitty weather, but because Bucky Barnes was his best friend in the entire world, he agreed to pick up his little sister, Rebecca, from her ballet class whilst his friend finished a class project that he had procrastinated with Steve’s other best friend, Sam Wilson. 

“It really is no big deal,” Steve laughed as he held his phone between his shoulder and ear, similar to the way he’d watched his mother do when he was young. “Becca is like a sister to me and I would hate if you and Sam failed outta high school just because you didn’t feel like reading Shakespeare.”

“Hey, I would not  _ fail _ . I’d just not be able to play in the game against Xaiver High next week.” Bucky huffed out. “Plus Becca likes you more than me anyway.”

“Well I’m not the one that put the lizard in her bed on Halloween.”

“THAT WAS SAM!”

“You encouraged it.”

“Okay, well she put stickers on my prosthetic and no amount of Natasha’s nail polish remover has gotten them off and it’s been four weeks.”

“I think they’re cu--”

“Steve, shut up you little punk.”

“I think if anyone is little, it’s you.” Steve snarked back, a smirk pulling at his lips as confidence surged through his chest as he recalled the sudden growth spurt that had hit him the summer before his freshman year and left him as Sam put it, “a Greek God.”

“Oh hardy har,” Bucky puffed out. Steve could easily imagine him slumping back against Sam’s bed, ignoring whatever book they were supposed to be analyzing so he could banter with him. “Don’t get all cocky now that you’re giant. You’re still a little punk and you know it.”

“And you’re still a jerk,” laughed Steve as he turned his car into the half-filled lot of the dance school-- not without his car protesting in the form of shrill screeches from his breaks. “Well, I’m here now and I’ll see you tomorrow morning, you jerk.”

“Alright. If you want to stop by and--”

“No Buck, I’m not aiding your desire to procrastinate your project with Sam. Later.” 

“You assh--” 

And with that, Steve hit the green button of his outdated iPhone, and tossed it to the passenger side of his car. He shook his head slightly, chuckling as he thought about what antics Bucky and Sam must be up to. The two of them were an interesting pair. Friends? Steve would use the term loosely to describe his two pals. They would defend the other in any given situation, but face-to-face, they were constantly bickering which often served as entertainment for Steve.

Steve had a large abundance of loyal friends, and he was quite proud to be able to say that. There were some slimy schmucks that tried to weasel their way into his life once he grew into his aforementioned “Greek God” state. They were only interested because he suddenly had athletic skills that had colleges all across the country offering him scholarships and looks, that even he could not deny, were in line with some of the Calvin Klein models that many lusted over on Instagram. 

Prior to such developments, Steve was barely 5’5” and probably weighed 110 pounds soaking wet and after indulging himself on Thanksgiving. He wheezed loudly walking anything more than ten feet and had fallen ill more times than he could count. But, even during those troublesome days he had his friends. The real ones. Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Scott Lang, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, and Thor Odinson. They had been there for him through it all and had stuck by his side even on the worst days when his mom had phoned them, letting them know he might not make it after the current bout of pneumonia.

They made him feel as if he could breathe easy even on days where his lungs were filled with fluid and he was admitted to the hospital for weeks at a time. They never made him feel invalid. They still screwed around with him and never gave him that pitiful look with drawn eyes that so many others around him always did. They acted like he was Steve ™ , the quirky artist that would never back down from a fight, and not Steve ® , the sickly runt that was never supposed to live past his pre-teens. 

But then of course, the puberty that was induced by God himself surged through Steve’s tiny body and somehow repaired his weak lungs, padded about eighty-something pounds of muscle onto his scrawny limbs, and stretched his body into an impressive 6’2”. Steve can still remember the last time he puffed on his inhaler for the last time, before leaving it on a shelf in his room-- where it has collected three year’s worth of dust. His friends, obviously overjoyed by the fact that their friend was not likely going to keel over anytime soon, did not proceed to treat him any differently than they had when he was sickly. The only difference now was that most of them had to look up to him when they spoke-- with the exception of Thor who had an additional two inches on Steve. 

Other peers began to fawn over Steve and attempt to high-five him (rather than shove him like they once did) and earn his friendship. Or they would obnoxiously flirt with him when prior to such miraculous changes would look at him as if he was handing them a dead bug anytime he offered them a spare pencil in class. Steve was smart enough to see through it and ignored such advances, but remained polite to the scumbags that roamed the halls of Shield High. The one thing that did change, however, was that now he was capable of sticking up for himself and “the little guy” and had absolutely no shame whatsoever in socking a fellow teammate in the jaw for teasing Bruce in class or for tripping over freshmen like Peter Parker. 

In all, Steve knew he was blessed with his group of friends and would fight tooth and nail for them no matter what came his way. And if that meant dragging his feet slowly across a slick sidewalk to pick up his friend’s little sister from a dance school that was completely out of his way, then so be it. 

As Steve attempted to maintain his balance, he could not help but chuckle as several little girls squealed loudly, as the cold bit their legs which were unprotected under thin tights, running toward their respective cars with parents trailing not far behind them. Some had their hair in tight buns and were wearing various colors of leotards and some had on black tap shoes that clapped loudly against the concrete. Steve, despite knowing absolutely nothing about dance, knew that concrete was definitely not ideal for the bottom of tap shoes just as it was bad for his football cleats to go across any surface that was not the turf of the field where his teammates and schoolmates screamed his name every Friday night.

He stepped into the building where several mothers (and some lone fathers) were crowded together in various locations outside the various studios, gossiping about their children, someone’s shitty casserole, and who would be most likely to be the lead in a show, get some dance scholarship, and/or make the competition team. Steve could not help but think of Nat’s guilty pleasure Dance Moms where the moms were completely psychotic and had nothing better to do than tear each other’s children down with snide remarks and dramatized fighting scenes that Steve almost hoped to see while he waited for Becca to finish up her ballet class. 

He sat himself down in a lone corner, arching his neck slightly to see if he saw Nat anywhere as she went to the same dance studio… along with another person from Steve’s past life. A certain someone that Steve had blocked out after they had ended on not the best of terms-- some of which-- actually most of which had been Steve’s fault. He quickly shook his mind of such thoughts and began focusing on the wood floor that was clearly in need of being refinished as it was rough and likely to splinter in multiple areas. He knew dance schools weren’t exactly the best funded, but Jesus, with the amount of tuition he knew the Barnes family paid, they could at least ensure that no one walked outta here with a whole ass tree stuck to their foot.

Steve briefly wishes he had brought his phone in to distract himself whilst waiting for Becca, but his interest is suddenly piqued by a conversation regarding dancers of the senior group-- the one he knows Nat is most likely in. 

“Well you know my Ashley is most deserving of the Joffrey scholarship… I mean she can do six pirouettes without bobbling-- unlike Tiffany’s daughter.” one with 2000-syle chunky highlights said as she smacked annoyingly on gum.

“Well that one twink boy can do at least ten.” another scoffed, scrolling through her phone with nails so long that they reminded Steve of Cruella De Ville. 

“He’s going to have an easy shot anyway.” one mother grumbled. “Boys never have to try as hard. The teachers love seeing some gay boy twirling away on stage so they look progressive.”

Steve could feel his face growing hot in annoyance at the ignorance and blatant homophobia oozing off of these mothers but chose to derail his focus from the gossip and rather at the photos of dancers that were hung all across the wall-- some clearly recent and others faded with old age within their chipping frames. 

He also cannot stand to listen to anymore gossip today… 7 hours of such trivial nonsense within his high school is enough for him. But, he can only wonder if people truly do not mature beyond their teens and if he and his peers are really doomed to a future that still has cliques that have nothing better to do than talk behind everyone’s back and gossip about if x is sleeping with y or whatever.

Finally, just before Steve’s faith in humanity depleted itself completely, the doors to one of the studios open up and several young girls clad in baby pink leotards and tutus run out, still on their tippy-toes as if the lesson is still going on. He immediately catches Becca’s eye, which is not difficult given his impressive height. 

“Stevie!!” Becca immediately squeals at the sight of her brother’s best friend. She runs over to his spot and instantly wraps her arms around him. 

“Hey Becca-Boo,” Steve cooed gently, “How was dance today?”

“It was so good! I learned how to do a fouette!” She exclaims, bouncing excitedly on her slippered feet. “It wasn’t as good as Miss Elisabeth’s, but I did a private with one of the seniors and he said he was gonna help me again tomorrow!” 

“That’s awesome! I’m sure you’re going to be one of the best dancers here!” Steve says, picking her up with one arm and heading over to the coat closet. 

Steve then proceeds to help Becca into her puffer coat and her snow boots. Becca continues to babble on about what else she learned today and how she hopes she gets a special part or even a solo in the winter showcase.

“I’m sure you’ll get something really special and I pinky swear I’ll be there, front-row to watch you with Bucky.” Steve says with a playful grin across his face.

“Yeah, but Bucky will fall asleep and snore louder than the music.”

“I’ll sock him if he does.” He winks, and helps her get buckled into the back of his car. 

“Do you wanna get hot chocolate before I take you home?” He asks as he situates himself into the front seat, turning the heat on full blast as he takes notice of her rubbing her hands across her thighs. 

“Y-Yes please!” She chatters out excitedly. “Can I get extra extra whip cream and a cookie if I don’t tell Bucky you said you’d punch ‘em?” 

“Well I suppose so.” He chuckles, turning around to make sure he is good to pull out of his place. But then suddenly, Becca lets out a loud gasp, causing him to slam roughly on his breaks. 

“What?!” he gasps, fearing he may have been close to run over one of the dancers from the toddler classes. 

“My dance bag! I left it in the private studio!” Becca says, her eyes wide as if she has done something more monumentally wrong than simply forgetting a twelve dollar bag from Claires. 

“Well we can go--”

“I’m cold.” She whimpers, flashing him puppy eyes, as she snuggles herself deeper into her jacket.

“Alright,  _ I’ll  _ go in and get it for you. Don’t unlock any of the doors until I come back, okay?”

“Thank you Stevie!” 

He shakes his head, chuckling to himself as he waddles over the sidewalk, which has grown somehow more slick within the last five minutes of him walking Becca across it. He once again enters the building where mothers are still whispering nasty remarks about other kids. He does not know exactly where the private studio is so rather than asking one of the bitchy mothers, he turns to one of the dads that is highly engaged in a game of Angry Birds.

“Uh, excuse me sir, I was just wonde--”

“Aren’t you Steve Rogers from Shield High?”

“Uh yeah.” Steve laughs uncomfortably.

“Boy, you have an impressive arm. You think you’re gonna kick Hydra’s ass during the homecoming game?”

“I mean, I think our team is really strong this season and if we keep our minds in the right place we should be good to go.”

“I can only hope so,” the man chuckles. “Bunch of assholes, them kids and their parents too.”

“Uh yeah.” Steve says, “Um, can you tell me where the private studio is by any chance? I need to get something for my friend’s sister.”

“Looking for one of the senior girls? Ooooh man, this is the place to look for ‘em. All dancers are super bendy and--”

“Uh no.. she’s eight.” Steve says, regretting the choice to not just approach one of the bitchy mothers. “I just need to get her dance bag.”

“Ah. It’s through that long hallway, past the dressing rooms and to the left.” The man indicates with a point, “But don’t shy away if you see any ladies. They’d definitely like to have someone like you on their arm.” 

“Uh, okay.” Steve bites his tongue, so tempted to inform this man that he, the star quarterback of Shield High, predicted to get a football scholarship to one of the Big Ten or SEC schools, is in fact as gay as the day is long. But rather than triggering the man into some homophobic slurs that are probably rooted in his pitiful excuse for a brain, he decides to turn on his heel and walk toward the private studio. 

He reaches the door which is clearly marked, making him instantly regret not just walking around the first floor until he found this room before being subject to such an obscene conversation. But Steve supposes it’s better than wandering the floor like a chicken without his head to have clear direction as to where he needed to go to fetch Becca’s bag. 

He is about to simply walk in before he hears a familiar voice screaming just behind those doors.

“GODDAMMIT!”

His gut instantly sinks as he would know that voice from anywhere as it is still saved in some of the videos on his phone. He quickly angles himself around the door in such a way where he cannot be seen but he himself can see through the window and into the studio that is empty with the exception of one Tony Stark and a man that appears to be one of the dance teachers. 

Tony Stark. What can Steve say about him? Oh yeah, he’s the previously mentioned ex that did not have a decent ending by any stretch. It was ugly, filled with tears and screaming, and resulted in Steve blocking out one of the few people who had genuinely loved him before he grew into Steve 2.0. 

He had met Tony when they were in the first grade. Tony was a whole year younger than everyone else in their class but his mind was years beyond theirs. His chestnut brown eyes were constantly aglow with sheer curiosity and a desire to discover the world around him. He was always buzzing about and had so many talents that Steve could not help but be jealous of his best friend. Tony was adorable with his curly brown hair, chubby cheeks, and gap-toothed grin. On his best day, Steve had looked like a drowned rat. Tony was (and still is to Steve’s knowledge) fiercely intelligent and was destined to take on his father’s weapon-making company, Stark Industries, once he graduated whatever Ivy League school he wanted to. Steve had struggled with his addition tables in Miss Hill’s class while Tony had been given extra work to do in order to get him to shut up in class. It was only with Tony’s help that he managed to get a sticker on their final quiz that year. Tony was able to charm anyone into being his friend as he was extremely charismatic and just had an aura about him that drew people to him with a magnetic force that had a strong force on Steve at the time. Steve had been painfully shy and would fidget with his shirt tails around anyone that was not Tony or any of the other friends he had at the time. Everything about Tony had been perfect and the two had been inseparable from the moment they were seated next to each other in Miss Hill’s class.

Tony always comforted Steve when he was ill and made him feel special in a way that not even Bucky or Sam could. He gave Steve hope that there was more to his life than hospital beds and breathing treatments. He would tell him, with dramatic hand movements which Tony had said were due to the fact that he was 50% Italian, that he would invent something to make Steve breathe well enough so that he could run like the football players Steve had admired as a child. He would tell him he would build something that would make his bones not ache every single day. He promised he would create some new method of healing that would make every single one of his ailments disappear painlessly.

Obviously six-year-old Tony did not do such things, but he gave Steve hope that there would be a day where he would no longer struggle to keep up with the other kids and he would be some semblance of normal. And when all his ailments went away, which occurred during the days by which Tony was  _ his boyfriend,  _ Tony had jokingly said he had spilled something into his morning tea. 

They started dating in the middle of their eighth grade year and continued on till the end of their junior year. It was a bitter breakup. Tony had been sobbing and had swung his fists at Steve, which Steve had easily blocked. Tony was messed up in a multitude of ways and all of his friends had said that the day after they broke up and had decided to cut out Tony Stark in favor of Steve Rogers… something that still weighed heavily in Steve’s gut. He was toxic and a bad influence on him. He had too much baggage for him. Steve had done nothing wrong or at least that’s what he still told himself to this day. Tony left Shield High not long after their break up and Steve had only seen glimpses of him on television with his father and in newspaper articles regarding his various academic accomplishments. He never paid them much mind as they made the  guilt memories resurface.

Steve quickly allowed his thoughts to derail from such memories, not wanting to force himself back into that dark place and instead focused his eyes on his ex boyfriend, feeling a familiar warmth low in his chest at the sight of him. He was wearing a loose black sweatshirt and nude shorts that were fitted to slim, toned thighs and flat dancer shoes that were clearly worn around the edges. His hair was longer than Steve had ever seen it-- he liked it-- and was a mess of curls that was pushed back with a black headband. The other thing he noticed about him, something that did not warm him the way his hair did was his physique. He was significantly thinner than he had been when he had last seen him at Shield and it triggered a sense of worry for the young man that he vaguely remembered feeling during the days of their relationship. 

“Tony it’s fine.” he heard a man say and he was suddenly pulled back into reality watching Tony grip his curls with frustration as he paced around the studio, breathing heavily. 

“No, it’s not Yinsen! My feet are completely sickled at the end and that last turn sequence was a bobbled mess.” He looks back up at his teacher and Steve thinks he sees tears glistening upon his cheeks. He wants to go in and pull the boy close to his chest but he knows it would do more harm than good given the way they had left things. 

“Tony, you’re being too hard on your--”

“I need this to be perfect. The Joffrey scouts are going to the showcase and if each of my performances aren’t perfect, I won’t get the scholarship.”

“Tony the showcase is toward the end of December. You have over a month to get this down.” 

“It needs to be perfect now! I still have the nutcracker that night and my duet with Pepper and then this solo. This solo… it means the most to me. It’s about  _ me.  _ I want them to see me and not just a role I’m portraying that every other dancer in the industry has already done.”

“Tony, this is an extremely complex dance that  _ you  _ choreographed yourself. I think with that being known, that’ll be enough for anyone judging you.”

“No.” Tony suddenly stands up, readjusting his headband, “They expect perfection and if I can’t be perfect, I can’t do what  _ I  _ want. I’ll be stuck doing what everyone else wants me to do.”

“And what is that?”

“Stark Industries.” He spat out. 

“Would that really be so bad? You are truly one of the most brilliant minds in the world.”

“But I don’t want SI. I want to dance. I’m happy here. I love building, yeah, but I don’t want to make weapons. When I’m here… I-I create dances that come from my soul and they don’t hurt anyone. I can dance from my heart and show myself without having someone there to hurt me for it. I get to teach others the art of dance and teach young girls and boys how to find their passion here like you helped me when I was an uncoordinated, chubby six year old.” He laughs a little, looking down at the floor, hands on his hips. “I have a home here. I am being what I want to be here and not what my dad wants to see or what some guy at an Ivy League expects me to be.”

Yinsen sighs and looks back up at Tony, “You were never uncoordinated. You had a natural ability the second you stepped in the studio. Everyone noticed. Mr. Jarvis did you a big favor when he brought you here.”

“He thought it would help my ‘excessive energy. ’” Tony chuckled.

Steve smiled a little, remembering how Tony used to bounce on and off the walls and always seemed like a source of endless energy. His mother used to joke that she would love to bottle some of it up for herself when she would work third shift at the hospital. 

Yinsen laughed. “Even after hours of conditioning, you were still ready for more.” He lets out a deep breath, “Alright, let's go through the dance one more time. But, this time, don’t focus all of your energy on the technique and what could be wrong because quite frankly, you are technically the most advanced dancer in the entire city. Focus on the emotional execution this time around. Allow your feelings to move through you throughout the dance and show me what you want the  _ judges _ to see. What you want  _ everyone _ to see as  _ you _ . If you can do that, I promise there will be no way for you to bobble anything.”

Steve knows he should get back to Becca, but he cannot help but be curious. He knew Tony danced, he always did. All of his friends would tease him relentlessly for it. Even Natasha, who went to the same exact studio. Even Steve would make snide comments like twinkle toes at him and how it really wasn’t even a sport. He never took Tony’s passion seriously. Never once watched him dance whereas Tony was always at the sidelines of every football game, screaming himself hoarse as Steve ran across the field for the winning touchdown. There was a lot he wish he could have done differently but it didn’t matter anymore. 

Tony gets on his knees, pulling off the sweatshirt, revealing lean muscle and bones that were more prominent than they probably should be. Steve felt his stomach drop slightly at the sight as he remembered how wildly insecure Tony had been about his weight, even when they were dating. He would always pinch himself and turn his nose away from high calorie foods which he would roll his eyes at and pressure Tony into eating whatever was before him because he found it insensitive that a rich kid would allow himself to go hungry. 

Regret seeped further into Steve’s bones the more he looked at him. He knew such insecurities were common among dancers and he probably should have been more serious and comforting about it...but it was not his duty to coddle him. But what really made Steve’s gut sink was not the frail bones under olive skin, it was the bruises wrapped around Tony’s ribcage and hand prints around his toned biceps. The prints were too large to be anyone around their age. They clearly belonged to Mr. Howard Stark.

Steve always knew Howard was tough on Tony. He had heard Tony cry about it to him several times since they were kids but he had dismissed it for the most part as Tony being sensitive. Afterall, all parents had high expectations of their kids,especially parents of genius kids and hell, Tony flaunted his genius so it was understandable that his parents would continue to expect nothing but greatness from him. It was only when Tony came to school with a black eye and a split lip that he realized that Howard wasn’t simply scolding his son for missing a homework assignment. He had held Tony close that day while Tony cried, unwilling to say why Howard had left him in such a state. Steve could now only assume that it was because Tony did not want to be who Howard wanted him to be and these current bruises were of the same result seeing as Tony’s priority with dance definitely had not shifted. 

But Tony’s relationship with his father and his issues with his self-esteem weren’t of Steve’s concern anymore. It wasn’t his responsibility then and it wasn’t now. He’s a teenager. He can’t be expected to mend everything in Tony’s life when he has to help his single mother maintain a shabby apartment with a heating system that always clunks out on the coldest day of winter (but always manages to be fixed and paid for by some anonymous donor). That chapter of his life was over and he could not allow himself to sink further into the past. He needed to put those blocks back up in his mind and focus on the future and the friends he still had. He was better off now without the baggage Tony brought along with him everywhere he went. His friends had said Tony was no good for him. He was above him. He did not need that weight in his life. He didn’t need the drama that followed Tony wherever he went and he was better off leaving now and just telling Becca that they would come get the bag after they got hot chocolate. 

Steve sighed and was about to turn away when he heard the sound of “Take Me to Church” playing from the private room-- a song that had always been one of Tony’s favorites when they dated and something in his chest curled and he felt himself compelled to watch Tony Stark dance for the very first time in all his years of knowing him.

**Imagine Tony dancing dancing like this in the studio:** [ **https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-tW0CkvdDI** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-tW0CkvdDI)

Steve instantly found himself entranced by the sight before him. The hair of his arms stuck straight up and chills that were not from the brisk air overtook his entire body. His heart caught in his chest and a lump swelled in his throat as he watched Tony seemingly defy gravity with each leap off the ground. He found his jaw dropping slightly at Tony’s ability to demonstrate such impressive muscular strength that many athletes dream of having but with a grace he had never expected out of this loud and buzzing boy. He found himself marvelling in Tony’s ability to control the room with his execution of each delicate, yet powerful movement with such raw emotion that truly suggested how much this dance truly meant to Tony. 

Steve found himself completely enraptured in the performance till the very end where Tony let his knees give way in count with Hozier’s hauntingly beautiful voice, his face drawn and agonized as if someone had hurt him-- which many people had. Steve, although horribly uneducated in the art (and maybe sport if Tony’s skill was anything to go by) of dance, knew that Tony had to have been thinking deeply about all the pain he had been subject to throughout his life in order to execute such fervent emotion. Pain not only from his father’s disappointment, other’s expectations of him, but pain that he most likely had inflicted upon him after their messy breakup.

Steve stood in complete awe, wanting to clap but before he could even truly react, he once again heard Tony yell in frustration.

“It’s not good enough!” The young man howled, his fingers pulling through his curls once more, tears finding their way down his cheeks.

Yinsen is clearly distraught, the smile that had taken over his features as Tony had danced completely erased as the boy continues to demean his own abilities and tear himself apart.

“Tony, you need to go back home and rest.”

“I-I need it to be perfect or I’m going--”

“Go home. You did absolutely amazing but you aren’t going to get any better if you continue exhausting yourself like this.” Yinsen walks over to Tony, and kneels in front of him, placing a hand on his bare shoulder and handing him his previously discarded sweatshirt, “You’ve been here since eleven this morning. You’ve taught all day. You’ve practiced this and several other routines for hours. You need a break.”

“But I…”

“Take a day tomorrow. Please. It’s for your own good.”

Before Steve can even move, the door flies open, barely missing contact with his face, and Tony Stark walks right into his chest. He stumbles back slightly, and looks up at the wall of a person that has blocked his way from making a dramatic exit out of the studio. He makes eye contact with the blue eyes that cross his mind every single time he performs a dance that is meant to have a heart-wrenching impact on the audience.

Steve swallows heavily as he is met with a panting, teary-eyed Tony Stark. 

“Tony?”

“W-what the fuck are you doing here?” He says in a tone that is only mildly angry.

“I was waiting to get Becca’s bag from the studio.”

“Well go in there and get it” Tony spits out, pushing past him.

“Wait!” Tony turns, his shoulders trembling violently and throat bobbing up, suggesting a sob wanting to escape. “Are you...”

“I’m  _ fine.”  _ He grits out, not allowing his voice to betray his stern facade. “I’m just being my regular old dramatic twinkle toe self.”

“No… Tony. I-I saw you dance.”

“Wow, it’s almost like you did the one thing I asked you to when we were together but are now doing it when you’re the last person I want to see.”

Steve attempts to ignore the jab, “You were amazing. I had no idea you were so…”

“Steve, I don’t want to see you. Just get Becca’s bag and please go.”

“But, maybe we coul--”

“GO!” Tony could not hide the crack in his voice as his dams finally broke and sobs shook his entire form. He quickly ran down the hall and away from Steve. 

Steve was about to move after him, but a tight feeling in his chest, that was not from his past asthma, prevented him from doing so. He had so badly wanted to forget Tony and he had been successful in doing so in the last year-- but now, just seeing his face had triggered a plethora of emotions that created a yearning to go after him. But something told him that he needed to leave him alone. For now. He knew Tony well enough from their history to know that when Tony was in such a state, it was best to let him escape any potential stimuli (i.e., Steve) that would further any spiral of negative emotion. But he would not leave him alone completely. Not again. He needed (wanted) to wiggle himself back into his life. Not only to attempt to help the clearly struggling young man but to finally appreciate the abilities he had once neglected. He wanted to watch him perform with the same grace and enchanting emotion that had ingrained itself into his mind after watching him just once through a window that was in desperate need of Windex. And if Tony could do that in a studio during the midst of a mental breakdown, he could only wonder what he could do on stage.

Tony had something special… something he had not cherished the way he should have before and he never wanted to forget it; and he wanted to make sure that Tony knew that he had something special and  _ was  _ something special.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this was so obscenely awful and corny that you were dozing off or under the impression that a slightly mediocre twelve year old created this. I AM TRYING. Also, I really want this to be a whole story but lack the confidence to do so ATM... but there is literally no (finished) work of dancer! Tony or works that tackle eating disorders and it is something I've wanted to see... so this is completely self-indulgent and an attempt to trigger the creative gears in a talented writer's mind to create such art for myself and others to enjoy. :)


End file.
